Black Water Rising

Minty’s presence. Darren turns and looks at Jay and the Rev.

He nods. It’s him.

“You’re sure?” Jay asks.

The kid nods again. “I’m sure.”

Minty is staring long and hard at Jay. The enmity, it appears, is mutual.

There’s not room enough in this tiny office for the men to sit down. The only available chair is buried beneath cardboard boxes, phone books, and two poster boards: union stands for brotherhood and justice for one _IS justice for all. The quarters are so close Jay can smell Kaylin’s aftershave and from here could probably make an educated guess about what kind of beer Carlisle Minty had with lunch. It’s hardly the most decorous place to hold a sit-down of this sort, but maybe, Jay thinks, it’s fitting for the sometimes down-and-dirty nature of union politics. Maybe Minty deserves no better courtroom than this.

“Let me just say off the top,” Bodine starts. “I don’t stand for labor violence. That’s not my way of doing things.”

He looks at each and every one of them, making sure they get that point clear and out of the way. Then he adds, “But this little incident is causing us a lot of fucking problems. We’re on the verge of making some real headway on this equal pay issue, and this shit ain’t helping at all. It’s goddamned unprofessional, for one. And I can tell you what, this strike wouldn’t be worth shit without OCAW’s participation,” he says, to which Wayne nods assent. “It’s the oil that’s got people scared shitless. It’s the shutdown at the refineries that’s got the fucking Washington Post coming around. The New York Times, reporters from out East. This is all about the oil.” He sighs, maybe sensing his own reduced position in this labor fight. The dockworkers might have started the strike, but like almost every other thing in America, it’s being fueled by petrol. “The alliance between the two unions is too important to piss it away on some bullshit like this. And I, for one, don’t want to see this drag on much further.”

“Me neither,” Minty says.

“And let me say this to you, Carlisle,” Bodine adds, poking a hairy finger in the air. “I’ve known you a long time, and if you did this, you ought to be goddamned ashamed of yourself.”

“Hold on, Pat,” Wayne says. “Let’s not jump to any conclu­ sions here.”

“I never touched that kid,” Minty says.

“My understanding,” Jay says, not letting him get away on a technicality, “is that the beating took place on your instruc­ tion.”

“I never seen this kid, okay?” Minty turns and looks Darren in the eye. “You got that?” He takes a step in the kid’s direction. “You got it all wrong.”

Wayne grabs Minty by the arm, pulling him back. “Why don’t you tell us what it is you want here?” he asks the men. “What makes this go away?”

“If Mr. Minty apologized,” Bodine starts.

“I’m not apologizing for a goddamned thing.”

Wayne tightens his grip on Minty’s arm.

Reverend Boykins clears his throat. “An apology is one thing, yes. The other is that we want to make sure our men aren’t put­ ting their lives in danger just for standing up for themselves, you understand? And as this thing goes forward, I, for one, need to know that these men are going to be protected.”

“It’s my understanding that the strike ain’t going forward,” Wayne says. “My men are ready to go back to work. Let’s make that clear right now.” He looks at Bodine. “You said we were close, Pat.”

Bodine sighs and says to Reverend Boykins and Darren, “If I’m being real with you, there is no way for us to not take seri­ ously the mayor’s proposal. If the stevedores adopt a viable pro­ gram for race-blind hiring, I think there’s a very real possibility that the strike will reach a resolution shortly.”

“And I’m telling you-all,” the Rev says, “pretending people aren’t black is not the way to equality. It’s not even possible, first of all. Any more than I can pretend you aren’t who you are.”

“I thought this is what you all wanted,” Bodine says sincerely.

“I think the hope has always been that you see what you see, and you take us anyway, for who we are,” the Rev says. “Not that we all go around pretending we’re the same. I don’t see how that helps anybody.”

Carlisle Minty lets out an exasperated sigh.

“And let me tell you what else,” the Rev adds. “You will never let those men out there know you’re serious about setting things right if you let this man get away with what he did. It will hang over this union for a long, long time.”

“Why’d you do it?” Darren asks, looking squarely at Car­ lisle Minty. “Why’d you do this to me? I don’t even know you, man.”

“Goddamnit, Pat, are you gonna listen to this bullshit?” Minty asks.

“It ain’t a bad question, C.”

“Aw, hell.” Minty waves his hand in the air like he’s waving away the smell of horseshit.

“You’re the vice president of the damn union,” Bodine says. “If you didn’t want a walkout, you shoulda talked to Wayne, or me, for that matter. It wasn’t necessary to pull a kid into it. He is one of mine, after all.”

“I never touched that fucking kid,” Minty yells, his face grow­ ing red at the jawline. “Jesus, Wayne, you want to jump in here?” he says to his union brother. “I mean, for one,” he says, speaking to Bodine again, “we’re talking about ten o’clock at night. How in the hell you gon’ tell me this kid saw me on a dark street, in a truck somewhere? That don’t make a lick of sense.”

“How did you know it was ten o’clock at night?” Jay asks. “I mean, if you supposedly don’t know anything about it.”